9 Coaches/1 Dad

 

“I’ve got nine coaches and one dad.”  Those words, spoken by my son when he was a high school sophomore, changed my parenting techniques forever. 

That comment came on the heels of what was probably a post-practice lecture on what he had done at football practice. I was the Athletic Trainer for his high school football team, so I was always around his practices and games.

I’ve been around football pretty much my whole life. I played. I coached. And for most of my adult life, I’ve served on the sidelines for high school and college football. I do think that I know a little bit about the game. I’m sure the ride home after practice every day was just one more coaching session.

I recall the exact circumstances of that comment. He was sitting in my recliner in our den and I’m sure he had just listened to me trying to coach him up. Before that, he had always listened, tolerating me, I guess.

I was one of those dads that coached every youth sport team that my kids were involved in. I remember when they were little, before youth sports days, I always swore that I was not going to be “that” dad. I was going to let others coach my kids.

But some bad experiences with youth sports coaches early on drove me to volunteer to coach. My first team was my son’s t-ball team, and then I never looked back.

I coached baseball, softball, basketball, and football. I re-started the Blount Stars AAU basketball program that had been dormant around here for years. I ran that program and held a variety of offices at Maryville Little League for years.

My buddy John Theriot ran the softball program (where I coached) and I ran the baseball program (where he coached). We practically lived at the little league park.  There was the little league softball team that I coached where I had 7 adorable little 12 year old girls that all reached puberty the same day. That was fun.

I can remember traveling with AAU basketball teams.  Again, I ran the program and coached both boys and girls teams. In Memphis for a state tournament, I took a dozen 12 year old boys for ribs at The Rendezvous, where the waiters, usually not apt to put up with much, seemed to relish taking care of this bunch of hungry boys.

A year later, I took the same bunch of boys to Middlesboro, Kentucky for a tournament only to get stranded there by the Blizzard of ’93. We knew snow was predicted but we went anyway. We figured that this worst case would be we would get to play.  We didn’t Everything closed down.

I remember the kids and the parents and a lot about the travel, but most of the memories about the games themselves have faded. Oh, I remember Adam Daves, one of the best shooters I have ever seen at a young age, lighting up a real good team at a Chattanooga tournament. I think he got 40.

I remember thinking that Ricky Upton would surely make a great football player while playing basketball in the state tournament in Memphis. He did. And Robert Penson was super talented but wouldn’t keep his shirttail in.

So, it’s time to get to the point. Parents, enjoy the games your children play. You’re not going to make them great athletes. When you can, let someone else coach them. Dad/Mom coaches can be OK, but someone that has been coaching a long time and who doesn’t have a kid on the team is most often a better scenario.

And take it from me, don’t coach them on the ride home. Be their parent. Be their support system. Don’t talk about how the coach is an idiot because they aren’t starting.  Ever.

Help them learn to love the game, whatever the game. That’s your best chance for success, on the field and off.